


no net ensnares me

by spookyfoot



Series: in pain and sickness, it would still be dear [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: “Come here,” Yuuri says, holding out a hand with his palm turned upwards so that the dog can catch his scent.The dog licks him and Yuuri laughs, delighted. The drumbeat approach of the horse and rider crescendos. Yuuri turns to see them skid to a halt, mud cast up like a spray of rain around them. The horse bucks and his rider topples to the ground with a series of muttered curses.He coos at his dog in a language Yuuri cannot hope to understand. When he finally raises his head, his long silver hair whips behind him. A look of shock and then suspicion flicker across his face before he rises to his feet.“I did not think I’d need protection on these back roads, but I appear to be mistaken.”Did he take Yuuri for some sort of brigand? Yuuri would think him handsome—were he not so rude.“If you are referring to me, I do not see why the situation has changed. If you are referring to your horse, then perhaps what you need is protection from your own hubris at riding a horse who would buck his rider at the sight of a dog.”The rider’s face is flushed as his horse trots back to his side. “Strong words from someone whose manner is as ill presented as their dress.”





	no net ensnares me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seventhstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE UTTERLY WONDERFUL NURI <333 SORRY THIS IS LATE TAKE IT UP WITH THE FLU, PT. COMING SOON! (part 2 where i skip the entire middle whooooops)
> 
> Title from Jane Eyre!

Yuuri arrives at Thornfield Hall fresh from Lowood—which is to say thoroughly exhausted and travel-worn. It was only an hour and a half after arriving at the George Inn in Millcotte, and inquiring if anyone knew how he might get to Thornfield Hall, that the carriage driver sent by his employer had found him.

The road was poorly maintained, full of rocks and divots, jostling Yuuri every time he had settled into something just short of comfortable.

He’s met by a woman with countenance that’s severe enough to still the wind. She introduces herself as Ms. Baranovskaya and leads him to his room with little introduction or fanfare. He’s grateful that the lady of the house should deign to greet him at all. To lead him to his room is far more kindness than he’d dreamed, let alone expected. On the way he notices that while the rooms that see a lot of use are primped and polished as though perpetually waiting for company to arrive, the chambers just beyond are dusty and dim, with furniture draped in heavy cloth.

Then, he’s left in a room much finer than what he’s used to, so that he might refresh himself after his journey before meeting his mysterious employer and his ward.

_________________________

When Yuuri descends for dinner, Mr. Nikiforov is not there. Instead, a small boy—pale with fair hair and sharp, discerning green eyes—sits sullenly at the table, prodding at a bowl of bright red soup.

Without a sound, Ms. Baranovskaya appears behind him. “That is Mr. Nikiforov’s ward, Yuri.”

“Who is Mr. Nikiforov?”

“The master of this estate.”

“Are you—is he—” Yuuri starts, unable to string thoughts together through his shock.

Ms. Baranovskaya looks as though Yuuri had placed a glass of curdled milk under her nose.

“He is not and I am not.” Ms. Baranovskaya’s voice is just loud enough for Yuri to hear them. He turns away from his soup, the spoon clattering against the side of the bowl.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mr. Katsuki, your new tutor.”

“I don’t need a tutor.”

“Mr. Nikiforov hired me, so I’m afraid that decision is his rather than yours."

“Victor isn’t here.”

“Then I shall have to trust my own judgement whilst lacking his.” From the corner of his eye, Yuuri sees Ms. Baranovskaya regarding him with something like approval.

Yuri does not respond. He turns away from Yuuri and resumes poking at the bowl in front of him.

_________________________

Yuri, Yuuri discovers, is a spoiled and willful child, but exceptionally sharp with languages and mathematics. They spend hours together in Thornfield’s library—which the still absent Mr. Nikiforov had instructed them to use as their makeshift school.

In the afternoons, Yuuri takes Yuri on long walks through Thornfield’s extensive grounds, sometimes wandering all the way to Millecotte to retrieve Yuuri’s mail when the weather permits.

Like sheets of winter ice left under the persistent warmth of the sun, Yuri begins to thaw. He tells Yuuri about his grandfather, about a city in Russia that Yuuri will never see, about the foods and sights and smells that he still misses.  He does not talk about his guardian.

Yuuri has been at Thornfield for sixteen weeks and has one disastrous attempt at piroshki under his belt, but zero sightings of the elusive Mr. Nikiforov.

_________________________

He asks Ms. Baranovskaya one night. Yuri has long since retired to his bedchamber and Yuuri has a burst of boldness, knowing that he might escape to his own room should this proceed poorly.

“Is Mr. Nikiforov due to return home soon?”

“Mr. Nikiforov comes and goes as he pleases.”

Yuuri waits, but Ms. Baranovskaya does not elaborate and eventually Yuuri says his good nights before retreating to his bedchamber.

He does not sleep that night.

_________________________

The months bleed into one another. December, January, February and March pass with little to mark them besides Yuri’s insistence on learning kanji and his continued refusal to discuss Mr. Nikiforov. Spring arrives, green shoots and tendrils slip through winter’s frost, like fingers prying apart the ice, bidding it to melt.

One fine afternoon in early April, Yuuri walks into town alone to retrieve his mail. His parents and sister write him every so often. Yuuri left home so that he might earn his own way and not burden his parents. Their inn on a once popular trade route had fallen on hard times, and while Yuuri could not direct the flow of commerce their way, he could remove himself from the number of mouths to feed.

A mile from Thornfield, he sits on a fence overlooking a large field, the latest letters from his parents resting heavy in his coat pocket. Large overgrown bushes shield him from the small road he takes on his walks into town. Smoke from the distant chimneys in Hay is just visible at the field’s farthest edge. Yuri usually accompanies him on his trips into town, and it was rare that Yuuri could find a pocket of time he might hoard as his own.

The sound of hooves shatters the stillness, though the horse and rider remain hidden by a thicket of trees shrouding the causeway. Yuuri turns away from the road, content to let the rider pass and for himself to remain unnoticed.

As the sound of hooves draws closer, the bushes to Yuuri’s left begin to rustle and a great dog with thick brown fur bounds through them and directly into the road. Yuuri starts to his feet. He cannot stand the idea that the horse and rider might not see the dog until too late.

Puddles of melted snow and ice dot the road and mud coats the bottom of Yuuri’s trousers. Yuuri whistles, remembering the dog he’d had as a child. The dog heels and Yuuri tramps over, mud squelching unpleasantly beneath his boots. The rider is almost upon them and Yuuri does not have much time.

Up close, the dog appears healthy, its tongue lolling out as it waits for its master’s approval.

“Come here,” Yuuri says, holding out a hand with his palm turned upwards so that the dog can catch his scent.

The dog licks him and Yuuri laughs, delighted. The drumbeat approach of the horse and rider crescendos. Yuuri turns to see them skid to a halt, mud cast up like a spray of rain around them. The horse bucks and his rider topples to the ground with a series of muttered curses.

He coos at his dog in a language Yuuri cannot hope to understand. When he finally raises his head, his long silver hair whips behind him. A look of shock and then suspicion flicker across his face before he rises to his feet.

“I did not think I’d need protection on these back roads, but I appear to be mistaken.”

Did he take Yuuri for some sort of brigand? Yuuri would think him handsome—were he not so rude.

“If you are referring to me, I do not see why the situation has changed. If you are referring to your horse, then perhaps what you need is protection from your own hubris at riding a horse who would buck his rider at the sight of a dog.”

The rider’s face is flushed as his horse trots back to his side. “Strong words from someone whose manner is as ill presented as their dress.”

“Perhaps you should consider whether your words reveal something of your own character before you speak.”

“Perhaps I ought not to have considered words at all,” he says. His leg buckles underneath him as he turns to remount his horse. Still he attempts to heave his body back up onto the horses back.

“If you decide you could deign to seek the counsel of others, I would suggest riding east towards Thornfield Hall. It is the closest shelter for miles.”

The rider barks out an unpleasant laugh that makes Yuuri suspect the rider is laughing at his attempt to help.

“Oh? And what would you know of Thornfield Hall?”

“Plenty. I work there.”

The cruel mirth slides off the riders face, “You work there?”

“I do. I tutor the owner’s ward. And I beg you not to repeat my words, for it seems you have our roles reversed—in this story it’s very clear which of us is Narcissus,” Yuuri would not speak so if he thought he would ever see this stranger again. He is also sure it is mutual and that the stranger will treat his ankle then flee from Thornfield as fast as he is able. Perhaps even before Yuuri arrives.

The stranger winces, and then smiles. “Would you allow me to offer you a ride as an apology then? We are going the same way.”

Dim, dusky twilight has overtaken the country lane but Yuuri has his pride. “I must decline, for I fear it would ruin the journey for both of us. I might make off with your horse.”

“I apologize from my error, but one rarely encounters innocent travellers on such a road. Surely you can understand my apprehension.”

“As I’m sure you can understand mine. I fear such a situation would compliment neither of us and would prefer not to end an otherwise fine day by being thrown from a horse.”

“You think that little of me.”

“But for your sudden offer, I can think of nothing to persuade me otherwise.”

“Then I will have to provide the proper evidence.” He spurs his horse into a trot, circling Yuuri for a moment, “and shall endeavor to do so as soon as possible.”

He gallops away and Yuuri watches him recede into the distance, still too incensed to take the stranger’s statement as the warning it was.

_________________________

Yuuri arrives at Thornfield Hall blissfully unaware of the storm that awaits him. He intends to retire to his room for the evening, to shrug off his ruined clothes and curl up by the fire, losing himself in a book he’d borrowed from the house’s library.

Instead, Ms. Baranovskaya stands in the entryway and fixes him with a disapproving look that sends a chill straight to the marrow of his bone.

“Master Nikiforov has returned, and has requested your presence at dinner. You will make yourself presentable and then return.”

Yuuri nods then scurries up the stairs. Ms. Baranovskaya had not mentioned anything about a a guest. Yuuri hopes that means the guest in question has already come and gone too quickly that Ms. Baranovskaya would think it worth informing Yuuri of his presence.

When Yuuri arrives downstairs, an unpleasant feeling sinks low into his gut the moment he spies a flash of silver hair at the dining room table.

“Ms. Baranovskaya,” Yuuri asks. She is passing by on her way to the kitchen and seems agitated at the interruption. “Did Master Nikiforov bring a guest with him?” Perhaps that had been the cause of the stranger’s unpleasant laughter, laughter that still rung in Yuuri’s ears hours later.

“He did not.”

“Then who is sitting with Yuri at the table?”

“Master Nikiforov himself, of course.”

Of course.

Yuuri feels queasy as he walks towards the long oak dinner table as though it were the gallows. A place setting waits for him, Master Nikiforov reclining in the seat directly opposite Yuuri’s.

“How charming that my would-be brigand has turned out to be my ward’s tutor.”

All the blood has drained from Yuuri’s face. “I apologize, Master Nikiforov, I did not know—“

“Of course not, otherwise you would not look like that now.”

Yuuri does not know what he looks like other than terrible.

“If you would like to join us for dinner, I suggest sitting. It’s generally more pleasant to eat sitting down than standing up.”

Yuuri makes it into his chair by habit alone.

“So, Mr. Katsuki, was it?”

Yuuri nods—after all that has happened, he does not trust himself to speak.

“What have you been teaching Yuri? I presume mythology, since you seemed rather familiar with that subject—“

Yuuri flushes, and Mr. Nikiforov’s eyes spy it immediately.

“—and I do appreciate your ability to put a theoretical subject to practical use.”

“Yuuri’s been teaching me Japanese,” Yuri says, pouting a little at being left out of the conversation.

“Oh is he? I don’t recall that any of my books were written in Japanese, but I have been away from Thornfield so long, perhaps someone has added to the collection.”

“I brought my own, sir.” Yuuri is already calculating when the next coach leaves Millcotte. If he wakes early enough, he might be able to make one that leaves in the morning. There is no way for this to end well otherwise.

Mr. Nikiforov’s eyes sparkle as they catch the candle light and stripped of their previous angry haze that clouded their previous encounter, Yuuri cannot help but notice how blue they are.

“How enterprising of you! I do like a man who knows how to take charge and stand up for his beliefs,” Mr. Nikiforov says, and Yuuri wonders if he will find future employment before the rumor mill manages to spread the news of his social trespasses all the way to the Continent.

Yuuri supposes he might as well dig his grave the full six feet while he’s already three feet deep. “Oh, and what, pray tell, are your opinions on forming opinions based on research rather than happenstance?”

“Why, they are _most_ favorable, Mr. Katsuki. Just today, I found myself set upon by a would be brigand, a common situation for back roads in parts not too far from Thornfield Hall—or so my steward’s report tells me.”

“That sounds like a very informative document, does it perhaps detail the persons most recently engaged at Thornfield?”

“Why of course, though sadly one in particular was missing a photo to do his profile justice.”

“Perhaps he shall place one in the paper when seeking a new employer. It might improve his luck.” Yuuri’s chair screeches as he stands, napkin discarded to his empty seat.

“I’m sorry, Yuri, but I have lost my appetite. Good evening, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri says, stalking out of the room, and upstairs to his chambers where his pillow is the only one who might hear his frustrated screams.

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued DUN DUN DUN!!!
> 
> many thanks to meg and robbie for beta editing and cheerleading <333

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [as free as in solitude, as gay as in company](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649622) by [seventhstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar)




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